The Great Betrayal
by TheXenoRaptor
Summary: America has collapsed. Faced with the Soviet Union's overwhelming victory in the Cold War, in 1987 President Ronald Regan declared the United States a dead nation, and formally dissolved the country. But all hope was not lost. In the American People's Commonwealth, hope remains, and it falls to one man with a dream to reunite a broken America.


Hello! If you're new around here, let me introduce myself; I am TheXenoRaptor. As should be apparent, I write fanfiction (and original fiction). That means that, no, I did not in fact create the world in which this story takes place. It's actually a mod called Red World for a video game called Hearts of Iron 4.

Red World presents an alternate history where the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics won the Cold War, and it was the United States of America that collapsed. Out of that collapse came three major countries, and a whole bunch of smaller ones. The three majors are, in no particular order, the Union of American People's Republics, a Stalinist communist state on the West Coast, the American Republic (AKA The Remnants), the remainder of the pre-collapse American government that now occupies the American south and south east, and finally there is the American People's Commonwealth, a socialist country in the north east and steel belt that is basically a big dysfunctional glob of all non-Soviet communists and socialists. The game starts in 2010.

Before you get any ideas, know this: none of these countries are presented as wonderful places to live. This is a somewhat grim timeline, where most of the world isn't doing very hot. While some places are less undesirable than others, everywhere has at least one major problem, and probably more than that. The UAPR has literal Stalinists running around purging people left and right, the Republic has Fascists, Monarchists, Confederate RPrs, and Jeb Bush (ugh *shiver*), and the Commonwealth has… well, you'll see.

This timeline is also rather crazy, which is one of the reasons I like it so much. Where else can you find Bernie Sanders doing… *ahem*, spoilers…

I think I've said enough about the mod. Go check it out on Reddit, Steam, or Discord. It's got a small but dedicated and fun community, along with a pretty cool developer.

Basically, I liked the mod and offered to the community to write a short story in its universe. So I polled the community on what I should make the story about, and the answer I got was… well, I can't tell you that either, because it in of itself is a spoiler. So I'll have to keep that to myself for a little while.

For those of you who are here from Reddit: welcome. You probably saw my into up above, but let me introduce myself just a little more. I am a writer. A writer of fanfiction. A certain kind of fanfiction. See, I write smut. I write stories with explicit sex, and sometimes just sex scenes. And it's all gay. And some of it is Furry. So if you're of a conservative bent, or if you don't want to see that, then maybe don't venture too far from this story (This one is totally clean and PG-13). You might not like what you find.

Anyway, I think that's it. Thank you for reading my atrociously self-indulgent introduction. On to the story!

* * *

Chapter 1: With Friends Like These...

Charlie shucked off her sweater and paused for a moment to tie it around her waist. The day was warm, especially for Detroit in April. She continued walking homeward, trying to remember that day's algebra homework assignment. She'd neglected to write it down.

The sun beat down on the city like a hammer on an anvil, heating up the pavement so that she could feel the warmth through her shoes.

She took a right and walked down a side street, the little one and two story houses of the suburbs going by on either side. They all had cars in the driveway, even the ones where nobody was home. In the automotive capital of the world, it was ironically much easier to buy a car than it was to find fuel for one.

Charlie kept walking until she reached her own house, a single story clapboard, and let herself in. Closing the door behind her, she promptly dropped her backpack on the floor and let her posture slump, sighing heavily.

"Jesus…" She straightened up again after a moment, and promptly raided the fridge for some milk and a cupcake. Retreating to the living room, Charlie collapsed onto the couch, once again letting her posture collapse. She turned on the television and flipped to PBS; the People's Broadcasting Syndicate. The news was currently airing a segment about the global fuel shortage.

Charlie briefly considered getting up and retrieving her social-studies notebook to write some of this stuff down in, after all it'd make a great subject for her essay next week, but she ultimately decided not to. If need be she could just look up the article online later.

"The Kremlin released a statement earlier today, saying that the work stoppage in Azerbaijan's oil industry is due to lax quotas and too much leniency for laziness. They have promised to deal with the problem swiftly." The screen behind the newscaster changed from a picture of striking oil workers to a rather cartoonish question mark. "However," she continued, "some have raised doubts over this claim. We now go to a panel of experts."

The camera panned to several people sitting in a semi-circle around a table.

"So, what are your opinions on the matter?"

The first man to speak up, a rather old, round, and balding fellow with a Communist Party pin on his lapel, loudly said "The Kremlin has absolutely made the right choice; it is prudent and shows decisiveness on the part of General Secretary Putin and his administration!"

"Whoa there Keitel, slow your roll!" A woman at the table interjected, "Shouldn't we also consider the motives of the strikers themselves? What grievances might they have against the Soviet government which might make them go on strike to begin with?"

"None of which couldn't have been solved by sending a petition to the government, but instead these workers went on strike, disrupting the Union's economy. This is selfishness and narcissism of a kind only seen in capitalists and religious reactionaries!" The fat man shot back.

"This report here" the woman gestured at a sheet of paper in front her, which the rest of the guests also had laid before them, "indicates that the strikers did indeed compile a list of demands and grievances before going on strike, which they elected a representative to deliver to Moscow in person. And then when he arrived; the KGB arrested him right there on the station platform, and he hasn't been seen since."

"This whole situation might have been avoided in the first place had the workers simply been allowed to unionize, which would have given them an outlet for their demands besides sending them to Moscow or going on strike." A third commentator chimed in.

"Labor unions are part of a Trotskyite plot-"

"We know, Keitel, we know. A Trotskyite plot to destroy the Soviet Union and bring back capitalism and the tsar and whatever other boogeymen you communists use nowadays. You're speaking on the same intellectual level as reactionaries who cried 'socialism' at FDR's reforms." The first commentator admonished.

Keitel pointed an accusatory finger at the woman opposite him, and Charlie promptly muted the television. She knew what that finger meant. When that finger got pointed, it meant that the shouting was about to start.

As Charlie finished off her cupcake and milk, the camera panned back to the newscaster. Charlie unmuted her.

"We'll let them debate." The reporter said with a false smile "Meanwhile, with the Azerbaijan oil strike still ongoing, the socialist world is facing an energy crisis. Both Iran and Saudi Arabia have increased their oil prices by over 50% to capitalize on the increase in demand, and with Canada selling its petroleum only to fellow Democratic League members and Commonwealth nations, this leaves only Indonesia as a regular supplier of oil for the American People's Commonwealth. Despite economic assistance from the central government, the chairperson of the Federation of Fuel Workers has announced that they are being forced to raise prices on gasoline by 10% to make up the losses."

"This has prompted the Greater Transit Union to vote in a union-wide referendum to temporarily lower prices on bus and tram tickets to assist people who cannot afford gasoline after the price hike in getting transportation. They also released a statement condemning the Federation of Fuel Worker's leadership for making the unilateral decision to raise prices without first holding a vote among the federation's members, and encouraging the rank and file of the union to stand up in solidarity and press their leadership for more internal democracy."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Charlie called from the couch, muting the TV again.

The front door opened, briefly letting a stream of bright sunshine into the house, before being shut again.

A boy then walked into the living room. He was of middling height, with brown hair, a handsome and well-defined face, and a Che Guevara T-shirt. A Communist Party pin was fastened to his shirt under the left shoulder.

"Hey Charlie!"

"Hiya Benny!"

Ben dropped his pack next to Charlie's and set down next to her on the couch.

"What are you watching'?"

"The news. Gas prices are going up."

The camera had once again panned to the table of commentators, who appeared to have calmed down in the meantime.

"Oh god." Benny said, staring at the fat man with the matching pin. "It's Adolf Keitel. What the hell is he doing on TV?"

"A few seconds ago he was ranting about Trotskyites."

Ben rolled his eyes "Of course he was. Moscow couldn't have picked a worse press secretary for the Communist Party of the APC if they had tried. Stupid old man is making us all look like buffoons."

"You could get kicked out of the part for saying stuff like that, ya know. They'd call you a Trotskyite too." Charlie laughed.

Ben chuckled. "They could, but they won't. Because if they start expelling communists from the party here for not agreeing with the Moscow line, then they'd never be able to stop." He became serious, looking intently into the empty space in front of them. "I mean it Charlie. I really think the world is about to change. There's a bunch of radicals and liberal reformers in the communist movement now. Not just here, but in Los Angeles and Moscow too. We're about to see a huge shift in how the communists around the world present themselves."

Now it was Charlie who rolled her eyes "That's what you said when Yazov bit the dust; remember how that turned out? Not to mention the CPUSA congress in Los Angeles. Now Davis will probably never leave the Secretary's office."

"That was the party leadership calling the shots both times, not the rank and file. We've had this conversation; I know that there are serious problems within the movement. I really do. But we can fix them! We just need more time."

"If you say so."

The doorbell rang.

"Francis is here. Come in!" Charlie yelled.

The door opened and a skinny, pale, blonde boy stepped over the threshold.

"Hey guys!" He dropped his pack by the others. "What's up?"

"Adolf Keitel is being stupid on TV." Ben pointed at the screen.

"Of course he is." Francis joined them on the couch. "What's he being stupid about this time?"

"The oil worker's strike in Azerbaijan. He's siding with Putin on it, and attacking the strikers." Charlie explained.

Francis frowned. "God I hate that guy."

"You're not the only one; you should've seen on of the panelists he was with give him a piece of his mind! 'We know, Keitel, we know.' Right in the middle of his spiel too. It was awesome! Want me to turn up the television, we might catch more of it."

"Nah. I've got my own mini-Keitel right here." Francis playfully elbowed Ben.

Ben stuck out his tongue at the other boy in response.

Charlie reached for the remote and pressed the power button, turning off the television. "You guys want some snacks?"

"Sure. Got any chips?"

"Yeah." Charlie got up and went to the kitchen to get some. She quickly returned and the conversation continued.

"Anything happen to you guys in school today?"

"I asked Jason out. No dice." Ben said.

"Jason Camron?"

"No Charlie, Jason Voorhees. Duh. Of course I mean Jason Camron!"

"I'm starting to understand why he might have said 'no'." Charlie teased.

Ben rolled his eyes again.

"Anything cool happen to you, Francis?"

"Yeah, actually." The boy hopped up and rifled around in his pack for a few seconds before coming back with a flyer. "Look at this." He said, flopping back down on the couch.

Charlie took it from him and read it aloud. "Labor Day Excursion! All students who qualify are invited on a trip to New York City on March 1st through March 4th, 2011. This is an exciting opportunity for students to diversify their experiences and see a new part of the Commonwealth. Learn about New York's fascinating labor history, the important role the city played in the foundation of our Commonwealth, and how the city today remains the beacon of freedom it has been for centuries. Various conditions apply, see main office for details."

She set the flyer down. "Ok… why should I care?"

"Come on Charlie! The three of us could have an adventure in New York!"

"What makes you assume I'd want to go?" Ben asked, eyebrow raised.

"There's a Communist Party youth rally on the 2nd of March in Central Park." Francis replied coolly. "You can get together with all your comrades and do… whatever you do. Have orgies; I dunno."

"We discuss Marxist theory and practice, especially in relation to existing models in our modern times. Thanks for remembering; this is like the 10th time I've explained it to you." Ben replied drily. "But you make a good point. I'd like to meet other communist youth. If the Detroit branch is rife with Trotskyists, Gorbachevists, and Titoists, I can only imagine how far-out-there the New York branch must be. Sure, count me in."

Francis turned to Charlie "How about you? Your parents work there, right? We could go visit."

"I was going to go as soon as you got Ben onboard; you can quit selling it now."

"Sweet! Off to New York for us! I can already imagine it; you, me, Ben, eating ice-cream in Time Square!"

His optimism was infectious, and Charlie couldn't help but smile. "That sounds like fun. Oh!" Her eyes lit up as she realized something, "The Striker has its headquarters in New York! I could drop by their offices and maybe show an editor one of the opinion pieces I've written."

"What's 'The Striker'?" Francis asked.

"It's that degenerate revisionist political magazine Charlie reads." Ben said jokingly "It's an anarcho-syndicalist publication."

"I've got the latest edition in my backpack if you want to check it out." Charlie answered, unfazed by Ben's quip.

"Nah, not my brand of politics."

"Oh yes, that Sanders guy." Ben muttered. "Do you actually think he has a chance of getting elected? Because if you do, then perhaps I can interest you in a very lucrative real-estate deal in Lincoln…"

"Don't be such a cynic Ben. He's got good ideas and enthusiastic supporters. All he needs is something to really get everyone going. Like a really big event that'll turn enough heads to get some attention to Bernie's cause. And then once he's got everyone entranced, they won't be able to escape. Next thing you know, bada-bing bada-boom, he's in, Chomsky's out, and we're on the path to true democracy!"

Charlie frowned "Any path that involves removing Chomsky from power is one that I just can't support. He's the only reason that the Commonwealth has even lasted this long. He needs what Bernie needs; a big event to galvanize enough public support to get rid of all the liars and corrupt parasites in the Central Committee, and then he'd have enough power to introduce true anarcho-syndicalism."

Ben just shrugged "You guys know my position. State ownership of the means of production combined with a single ruling political party with internal party democracy. Not that that seems likely any time in the near future."

There was silence between them for a moment.

"Ya know…" Francis stared at the ground, his usually fun and jokey tone replaced by a somber one. "It's people like us that tore the world apart. Communists, Syndicalists, Capitalists. We can't ever seem to just get along."

Charlie put an arm around his shoulder and smiled. "We're not defined by what political positions we hold. We're people whether or not we like certain forms of economics or governance. And we'll always be friends, right? We don't live in a perfect time, but what could possibly come between us?"

Francis was looking a little less grim, and even Ben had cracked a smile.

The communist put his arm around his friend's shoulder from the opposite side, gently shaking Francis back and forth between himself and Charlie.

The blonde looked up at them gratefully. "I'm glad you're my friends."

"And we'll always be your friends." Charlie assured him.

Ben smiled wider. "After all, with friends like these, who needs enemies?"


End file.
